


the dust settles

by yelenabelov



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 10:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25847947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yelenabelov/pseuds/yelenabelov
Summary: Chancellor Palpatine’s dæmon is a small, sickly thing.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	the dust settles

**Princess Amidala**

When she’s thirteen, Senator Palpatine congratulates Padmé on her victory in the election, praising her resilience, cunning and eloquence.

“Thank you, Senator Palpatine,” Padmé replies, feeling very much like an adult.

She’s exhausted from campaigning, but she can’t let them know that. She is Princess Amidala of Theed. Despite this, by her feet, her dæmon doesn’t bother to hide his exhaustion, curling up by the hem of her gown. Padmé can’t find it within herself to scold him.

“I see you’ve settled,” the Senator says.

Momentarily, Padmé forgets herself. “What?”

Solon is a brown-furred mongoose, long and slender. _Is this what he’ll look like for the rest of our life?_ She grips the fabric of her dress tightly, knowing that this is one of the most important moments of her life, and she can’t celebrate it. _He’s beautiful_. 

“Yes, child,” he confirms. “I’m old enough now to know when a dæmon has settled.”

 _Child_. “Mongooses are dangerous.” Padmé can recall a tale about a mongoose who protected its family from snakes and the like, even battling bogwings.

It’s not that they won, her mother would tell her, it’s that they tried, and suddenly, she’s very, very glad Solon is a mongoose. What a fitting dæmon, she thinks, for the Princess of Theed.

“They are,” the Senator concedes. “I must say, I’m jealous. Epidius is but a spider. An unexciting dæmon, I’ll admit.”

“No,” Padmé disagrees, mainly because she’s supposed to, and it takes her a moment to piece together a compliment. “Spider webs can be beautiful.”

“They can,” the Senator says, adjusting the sleeve where his dæmon must be.

He smiles. Uncomfortable, Padmé smiles back.

**Senator Organa**

On Alderaan, dæmons were especially prized.

In Parliament, the politicians’ dæmons were always discussed, and were sometimes the difference between winning an election and losing one.

_Alling’s dæmon is a thranta, which means he’ll put Alderaan first. I like the Queen, her dæmon is a dove. Senator Organa’s dæmon looks a bit funny next to the Queen’s, don’t you think?_

On social media, there’s never a selfie to be seen without an accompanying dæmon, nor an emoticon sent without a smaller creature, too. Bail remembers the countless things he searched as a youth: _What will your dæmon settle as? How do you know if your dæmon has settled? What do bats symbolise on Alderaan?_

 _So_ , it’s strange to Bail Organa that Chancellor Palpatine conceals his dæmon from the public eye. He’s certainly not avoiding scrutiny for having an unpleasant dæmon because not having a visible dæmon, however unpleasant, is significantly worse.

Hence, Padmé.

“The Chancellor’s dæmon?” Padmé repeats, frowning. “Epidius. He’s an arachnid.”

Bail masks his surprise, and Pedro, who settled as a bat many, many years ago, hides his curiosity. “You’ve seen him?”

“No,” Padmé says. “It’s different, Bail. On Naboo.”

He forgets Palpatine is from the same planet as Padmé. “Different?” he prompts.

Pedro settles by Solon’s side, sensing his unease.

“Yes. It can be a private thing,” she explains. “Intimate, for some.”

Bail frowns. “Is this recent?”

He knows the Naboo value privacy, but he’s never heard of this.

“No,” Padmé admits, leaning forward surreptitiously. “But the Chancellor’s dæmon is feeble, or so I’ve heard. It was explained to me that he hides it in fear of projecting weakness.”

 _Oh_. Bail blinks, absorbing the information slowly. _Oh_ , he thinks, _how anti-climactic._

Padmé smiles. “Come on,” she says. “There’s some Algrane wine over here for you.”

Bail follows her through the crowd.

**Anakin Skywalker**

It’s not that Anakin is disappointed his dæmon settled as a dog. He’s _not_! It’s just…

“Everyone on Tatooine had dog dæmons,” he admits to the Chancellor.

He told Obi-Wan the same, but his master just nodded and said something about feeling _connected to his roots_ , _ignoring_ the fact Anakin doesn’t _want_ to feel connected to Tatooine in that way. Obi-Wan doesn’t understand. _He isn’t listening to me_.

“And that disappoints you,” the Chancellor deduces. “Why?”

Anakin falters. It’s hard to explain. _But the Chancellor listens_.

“Everyone I knew had them,” he replies. “It was good. They preferred it when your dæmon was a dog.”

“Ah,” the Chancellor says, and Anakin thinks he seems thoughtful. “It’s okay to feel disappointed in your dæmon, Anakin.”

Anakin swallows the lump in his throat. “Is it?”

It’s not. Everyone knows it’s not. Especially for a Jedi. There are archives going back for centuries, diary entries and holos, of a Jedi’s special relationship with their dæmon. _But if the Chancellor says so…_

“Yes, Anakin,” the Chancellor tells him. “I feel disappointed in mine, you know. It’s not unusual. Epidius is a spider. Rather unglamorous, wouldn’t you say?”

“Is that—“ Anakin steels his nerves. “Is that why you hide it?”

His worry kicks in immediately. It’s rude to ask, he knows, but he and the Chancellor are friends, aren’t they? _It’s okay to ask between friends, isn’t it?_ He wouldn’t know.

“Yes,” is all the Chancellor says, seeming—delighted? “And it’s not unusual, Anakin, to feel as you do. It’s those feelings that make you who you are.”

Anakin spares a quick glance at his dæmon. He can’t imagine disowning her but he knows they don’t have a normal relationship. He can travel further away from his dæmon than anyone he knows. _And the Chancellor doesn’t like his either…_

“Thank you, Chancellor,” Anakin says sincerely.

“You’re welcome, Anakin,” the Chancellor answers. “Remember, I’m always here to talk.”

**Senator Lin**

Senator Lin is glad the Chancellor of the Galactic Republic isn’t a talkative being, mainly because they don’t want to spend anymore time than is required on this horrible planet, but also because Basic is an ugly language.

 _Where are the inflections? Where are the kennings?_ It’s such a direct, guttural language.

“Our borders will remain closed,” Suloo reminds him, ignoring the annoyance bubbling in their stomach.

They were told to emphasise that. It’s really all anyone on Ragoon cares about. Well, that and the technology accompanying the trade. Not that the people will be told of that. It would hardly be a popular decision.

“Of course, Senator Lin,” Chancellor Sheev replies. “The Senate will agree to that. I trust your people are willing to pay the elevated taxes?”

Suloo nods, which means _in the affirmative_ in Basic. “Yes,” they also say, just in case.

Keeping the borders closed was something of paramount importance. No one on Ragoon wanted anymore outsiders coming in than necessary, trampling their grasses and disrespecting their ways.

Besides, it’s not like they’re going to be honest about their earnings anyways. No one’s going to keep track of their economy, they just care about the landscape being an attractive space for their mystic army to meditate in.

“Excellent,” Chancellor Sheev says, offering them a hand.

This is a handshake, which is common in Human business. Suloo accepts the gesture, holding his hand limply before releasing it. They didn’t care to learn the custom but Chancellor Sheev hardly seems to find it inappropriate.

“Might I say, Chancellor Sheev,” Suloo begins as they are shown to the door. “It is wonderful to see an off-worlder that isn’t followed by some odd beast.”

“Oh?” Chancellor Sheev prompts gently.

“We always thought it strange on Ragoon that your essence is on the outside,” they continue. “How vulnerable that makes you.”

They sign their laughter, something Humans possibly don’t do, but that’s not their concern. _Imagine having your life tied to some furry beast smaller than my head_. They wonder how these other species aren’t extinct yet. Must be luck.

“Yes,” the Chancellor says slowly. “Vulnerable, indeed.”

When Suloo leaves Coruscant, they are glad to never leave their planet again.

**Mas Amedda**

Chancellor Palpatine’s dæmon is a small, sickly thing.

The noticeable absence of any visible dæmon made most senators search the room in the early days, smiles strained. Excluding the senators from Kiffu and Alpheridies, who didn’t notice anything amiss, and that blind senator from Mirial. Others, though—others, it panicked. A lot.

Senator Organa, from a planet that worshiped their dæmon companions, for instance, hid his discomfort well. But not that well. It’s Mas Amedda’s job to watch and listen, and he is very good at his job.

The rumours are true, new senators discover after meeting him, the Chancellor’s dæmon is sickly and hidden. Sidious always notices their unease.

“There are troubling times,” he says, adjusting his sleeve as though there’s something in there, hiding from this war-torn galaxy.

Too often are people eager to assume the best.

“Yes, Chancellor,” the senators reply, embarrassed at being caught. “Of course.”

Mas hides his amusement. Only he knows there’s nothing there.


End file.
